


I'll See You in the Morning Time

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coma, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky was dull, the blue of not-raining-just-yet and lightly brushed over with sun-diffusing clouds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll See You in the Morning Time

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [What Do I Do?](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6338) by acidqueen31. 



> A sequel. You need to read the above for this to make complete sense.

The sky was dull, the blue of not-raining-just-yet and lightly brushed over with sun-diffusing clouds. The trees outside rustled and fluttered their leaves in the same wind playing games with the clouds.

John blinked into the light.

The quiet of the- yes, it was a hospital room- made the rustling of the sheets and the sound of his hair against the pillow vibrant and clear as he shifted his head, trying to get a good look about. He turned his head fully to the left, dull and muffled hospital sounds creeping in through the walls.

"Sherlock?"

The question was raspy and dull, but served to stir the man sleeping propped on one hand in the chair at his bedside. John had half a second to register the deep lines of fatigue- not sleeplessness but actual battle-weary _fatigue_ \- around his eyes and mouth, the deep purple bruising under his eyes, the sallow skin, before dark eyes fluttered open. John didn't move, watching as Sherlock glanced about the room blearily, before resting his eyes on John.

The transformation (there really wasn't any other word) was miraculous. Lines smoothed out, a tension John hadn't even realised he'd recognised eased from those shoulders and his face lit up.

"John?" he breathed.

"Hi," John smiled back, still raspy and wishing for some water even as he continued, "Good morning?"

Sherlock was up from that god-awful chair in a second, bending over John to bury his head in John's neck, left hand coming up to rest against the side of John's face. Cradling. _Holding_.

"God, John, don't do that again." And John would've made a quip back, would've teased but Sherlock didn't sound at all condescending or flippant. He sounded the relieved you get when someone tells you the bank's giving you an extension; when someone tells you the last desperate gamble earned you the pot; when someone tells you you have an unexpected three weeks paid holiday time.

When someone tells you the world isn't ending after all.

John reaches up to card his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

"I promise."


End file.
